A Million and One Confessions
by K.H. Wright
Summary: In which America just doesn't get it.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Damn. I've been doing a hella lot of writing. xD Anyways, here's some USUK fluff, just for you, reader at home! This is gonna be a short chapter, the others will be longer, I promise. This is more like an introduction than a "chapter"**

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"W-well you see America," England started, trying to choose his words carefully. It had taken him years to work up the courage to finally do this, confessing to America that is. He was terrified, but he couldn't keep it in any longer. "I want to tell you something."

"Yeah?" America said, grinning. England dropped his gaze. This was going to be harder than he expected. Absent-mindedly, he traced the top of his cup of tea. How should he say this? He couldn't possibly just "say how he felt." No, explaining to America that his every thought was filled with images of them together, that he had been heart broken in every instance that they had grown apart, or that he was so head-over-heels, over-the-top in love with him that sometimes it hurt, would scare him. He had to tone it down, be causal. Work America into the idea of it.

"Well, we've been spending a lot of time together lately-"

"Yeah! It's been awesome!" America said, cutting him off. England's heart jumped at the words, even if he was a bit annoyed that he was interrupted.

"Yes, it has been," he agreed. "Well, what I wanted to tell you is, um, I like you." He kept his eyes on his tea, not able to look up at the other man.

"I know that, I like you too," America said, flippantly.

"No, America, I don't think you understa-"

"Hey, do you wanna come over to my place for a few days? There's a new museum opening close by where I live, and there are a few concerts I think you'd like," America cut England off again, smiling broadly. England opened his mouth to say something, but instead picked up his tea and took a long sip on the too-hot liquid and scalded his tongue. Tears came to his eyes, and he wasn't sure if it was from the pain in his mouth or in his chest. America hadn't turned him down, but…he just didn't get it.

"Yes, America, I'd love to come over," he said, running his fingers through his hair. He ignored the other man as he rambled on about all the things they could do. England wasn't sure how or when, but he'd find another opportunity to relay his emotions. Now if only he could get America to understand…

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**Okay, super short, but like I said, just kind of an intro. Leave a quick review and let me know what you think~ I hope to have the next chapter posted soon.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Okay, so I'm going into this with no idea what I want to do. xD I know how this fic's gonna end, but not idea how I'm gonna get there. Hang in there with me; I'll pull something out of the trash compartment that is my brain. Anyway, please leave a review~**

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England sat in the passenger side of the car and closed his eyes, letting the cool wind of night stream from the open window into his blonde hair. He and America had just gotten back from a concert, and though usually he wouldn't let America drive, he was tired and he had a hard enough time driving on American roads as it was. How Americans could drive on the wrong side of the street was beyond him. He had often wondered why they did, since most of the rest of the countries he colonized drove on the same side as him. Maybe it was a rebellious thing, a way to really stick it to England after the Revolution.

England shook his head. He didn't like to think about the Revolution. Although it had been centuries ago, he still could remember the exact way he had felt that day when America had declared himself independent. That terrible pain in his chest returned every time he remembered it and even now, he felt that same ache at just the passing thought. He forced himself to relax. America didn't pick up on much, but after all the time they had been spending together, he had gotten better at noticing England's moods.

Looking over to America, England's mood lightened. _He's here with me now, and that's all that matters, _he thought. The urge to reach out and grab America's hand suddenly leapt on England, but he suppressed it. He was reminded of his mission: trying to get through to America how much he really cared. How was he going to do this? He decided not to tell America while they were in the car, for if his reaction was bad, they wouldn't have to be right next to each other for an hour or better. A walk was what he decided on. He would ask America to go on a quick walk with him when they got back to America's place, and he would tell him then. Hopefully, this time the younger man would understand…

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"Wow, England, I didn't expect you to be such a night owl. Guess you're not a quite a senior citizen," America said, obviously trying to get a rise out of the older nation. Had it been any other night, England might have gotten mad, but tonight he had to remain cool. So instead of yelling, he laughed softly and rubbed the back of his neck.

"I guess not," he said. America looked back at him and raised an eyebrow. That was not the reaction he expected.

"You feeling alright?" he asked. England nodded. He couldn't help but be annoyed though; did America really think him so easy to provoke? Once again, he let it go. He couldn't yell at America, then confess his undying love in the same breath.

Despite the younger nation's attempts at bothering him, England couldn't have asked for a better night for this. The air was clear and sweet, just far enough away from the city to not reek of pollutants and exhaust, but close enough that they could see the lights on the skyline illuminate the dark night. England stopped walking and clasped his hands in front of him. America stopped just a few steps ahead of him.

"Huh? What's wrong England?" he asked. England attempted to swallow the lump in his throat. With a shaky voice he started.

"Well, America, it's like I was trying to tell you the other day. I really like you and-"

"Yeah, I know you like me," America said rolling his eyes. "Otherwise you wouldn't have wanted to come over here." England sighed. If America cut him off one more time…

"I don't think you quite get what I'm sa-"

"Look!" America said, pointing to the sky, where a streak of light had brightened the otherwise starless sky. "A shooting star! Make a wish!" The younger man promptly shut his eyes and began to wish silently to himself. England couldn't believe it. Was the entire universe against him being with America? With a sigh he closed his eyes.

_I wish he would listen to me. I wish he would understand what I'm trying to say. I wish…I wish he would love me._

"Alright!" America called. "Did you make your wish England? Remember, you can't tell anyone, or it won't come true." England smiled sadly.

"I wouldn't dream of it America."

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**That's it for chapter two! Still not too long, but when are my chapters ever very long? Please review, I enjoy your input. :]**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Once again, I have no idea what I'm about to write. :3 As always, please review.**

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Lightning flashed across the sky, streaking the grey clouds with a bright light. England counted the seconds, waiting for the crack of thunder.

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

_Four…_

Boom.

He smiled to himself. Thunder storms were never a bother to him; he liked to watch them. He sat outside under the cover of the patio, sipping his tea in the muggy air and listening to the thunder as it roared through the sky, always behind that great flash of light. America on the other hand had holed himself up in the house. It wasn't that he was necessarily scared of thunder storms, but he definitely didn't relish them the way England did.

Bringing his thoughts back to America just deepened the ever-growing wound in England's chest. He had tried over and over to tell the younger nation how he felt, but each time he was either interrupted or misunderstood and, although he wanted to blame it all on America's stupidity, but he knew he was partly to blame as well. Trying to relay his feelings, while trying to keep them in check at the same time seemed to be counterproductive. He knew that exploding with emotion wasn't a good idea, but every time he tried to tone it down, the words he chose to say seemed pathetic in comparison to how he truly felt. He sighed and took another sip of his tea.

The wind picked up and England wondered if any of his little friends were in the air. It was always hard to see them but, yes there they were. The sylph, wind spirits. A few of them hung in the air, wispy tendrils with no faces or other bodily features other than their many delicate arms coming from a common center. England smiled.

"Hello there, little wanderers, are you enjoying the storm?" he greeted the spirits. One of them floated close by.

"Yes," it said; its voice as thin as its gossamer form. "And you, England?"

"I always do," the island nation smiled, not at all surprised that the sylph knew his name. Most spirits had a good idea of who he was, as he was one of the few who could still see them. He wondered if they had any thoughts they could share with him on the subject of America. Although they weren't Flying Mint Bunny, he was sure they could give good advice.

"Do…do you think I could ask for a little help from you?" he asked. The wind picked up again and the sylphs quivered in the breeze.

"You can ask," it said. England sighed and told the sylph all his problems with America. The spirit listened silently, shaking each time a wind blew through.

"You need to be more direct," it told him after he finished his story. England laughed nervously.

"I don't know how I can make myself clearer, short of jumping on the top of the highest building and proclaiming it to the world," he said. The wind began to blow once more, and the sylphs started to drift off with it.

"You're scared," were the last words spoken to England by the sylph. The words struck him hard, and for a moment he couldn't quite remember how to breathe. He _was_ scared. He knew that. But hearing someone say that to him somehow unveiled how dark and deep his fear really was. What if America rejected him? How could he live with the younger man pulling away from him yet again? England ran his fingers through his hair and took a shaky breath.

"Hey, England, who're you talking to?" came an all too familiar voice from behind him. He jumped and looked over to the sliding glass door where America had poked his head out into the humid outside air. "I could've sworn I heard you talking to someone. Your imaginary friends again?"

"They're not imaginary, you wanker," England grumbled under his breath.

"What was that?"

"I said why don't you join me out here?" he lied. America hesitated, but finally decided to open the door further and come outside with England. He took a seat beside the older man around the patio table.

_Tell him, tell him now._

England knew he had to do it, he had to be direct. He couldn't fumble around his true emotions. He had to tell America how he felt, and he had to use the "love" word.

"Um, America, I-" His words caught in his throat.

_Tell him! Just tell him you love him! Tell him that he makes you happier than you ever thought you could be. Just TELL HIM!_

"I-I really enjoyed staying here with you."

As he said the words, he felt a piece of himself die. He was a coward. A coward.

"Yeah, England! I'm glad you got to come hang for a while," America responded brightly. England smiled at him but it didn't reach his eyes.

_I love you…I love you…I love you…_

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**Okay quick note: Sylphs are elemental spirits along with gnomes, undines and salamanders, (alchemically speaking I believe.) I got learned this from a book on ancient signs and symbols that a friend leant me. I could be wrong in this information, as it's been a while since I read it. Anyway, please leave a quick review.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Yay, onto the chapter that I actually know what I'm going to do! This is the last chapter by the way. I really like this fic, and I really enjoyed writing it!**

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_England looked around. Everything was empty, just a hazy white. He was filled with apprehension, but he refused to give into fear. He walked forward, testing the non-existent ground as he went. Suddenly, just ahead of him, he saw something. Someone. It was America. England ran to him._

"_America!" he called out and the younger nation smiled at him. "America, I have something important I need to tell you." He felt America put a finger to his lips, then the younger man wrapped his arms around England, softly bringing their lips together. _

_Then he disappeared._

_The scene had changed. The white was gone. England was standing in the rain, mud caked to his boots, and his red jacket soaked to the skin. The smell of gun powder was in the air…_

England woke with a start, his breath jagged. _It was a dream, just a dream._ But even with that reassurance, the parallel was overwhelming and so, pulling his knees to his chest, England sat in the bed in America's guest room and wept.

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After a while, and with a bit of effort, England had managed to rouse himself out of bed and dress. He then went downstairs to see if America was awake yet. In the kitchen, England found him to be awake, (if only barely) leaning against the counter in a pair of jeans and a loose fitting t-shirt, drinking coffee.

"Good morning, England," he said as the older man approached him.

"Morning…" England said, his voice somewhat raspy. America suddenly perked up.

"England, are you okay?" he asked, concern in his voice. England almost laughed.

"No," he replied. "No I don't think I am." America stood up straight and walked toward the other man.

"What's wro-"

"America, I'm in love with you," England said, stopping the younger man in his tracks. "I've been in love with you for centuries. I've been trying to tell you this whole time but-" England looked up to America and the shocked look on his face made the island nation choke on the speech he had prepared that morning. His heart shattered. He guessed that was his answer.

"I'll send for my things," he told America and quickly made his way out of the kitchen into the hall, then the foyer and out the front door. He wanted to run, he wanted to cry, he wanted to curl into a little ball and cradle his head in his hands as he let the pain overwhelm him but, for now, he would do none of those things. First, he would calmly walk to the nearest hotel, get a shuttle to the airport and go home, where he could do any one of those things. He didn't get far when he heard the footsteps of someone running up behind him. Not needing to look to see who it was, he simply ducked his head and walked a little faster.

He expected America to stop him, to jump in front of him or yell at him. He definitely didn't expect the younger man to completely run into him, wrap his arms around him, and hold him. America lowered his head so that it was resting on England's shoulder. The older country didn't know what to say, didn't know what to do. He tried to break free, but America wasn't having that.

"Let me go, America," England said. What was he thinking? Wasn't he disgusted? Why was he holding so tight to the man who he had basically just turned down?

"No," America replied, his voice muffled.

"America-"

"I don't want to!" he cried, and England stood stunned. Had he jumped the gun? His heart did a flip. Did America return his feelings? He wasn't sure what to say. They stood like that for a long while, before England finally opened his mouth.

"America do you…" he let his voice trail off.

"I don't know," America responded truthfully, his voice rough. "I've never thought of you like that before." England closed his eyes. He knew it was too good to be true.

"Then why did you come after me?" he asked almost bitterly.

"Because I don't want you to go away," said the younger nation, his arms tightening around England. "I said I don't know how I feel. I don't know if us being together is a good idea or not but…that doesn't mean we can't try, right?" He lifted his head and turned England so that they were facing each other. The older man couldn't help the tears rolling down his face.

"Right," he whispered. America smiled at him, and pulled him into a warm embrace, where they stayed until both grew tired of standing and they walked back to America's home. America didn't break his embrace the whole walk there, keeping one arm around his waist and England grew hopeful. There was nothing for sure, but did it ever feel good to have America hold him.

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**Crappy ending you say? I agree. But…wait, this can't be! What do I have in my hand? Is that…is that a SEQUEL? Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I believe it is. xD Okay, I'm done joking around. In all seriousness, I was just gonna make this one big story, but the more I wrote on it, the more it seemed to need to be split into two different fics. So keep an eye out for the sequel if you're interested. I'll probably start on it either tomorrow or right after I finish posting this. xD**

**-K.H. Wright**


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